


The Arse of Arthur

by orphan_account



Series: Collection of short fics [11]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bad Flirting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Interior Decorating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin pretends to clean things so he can check Arthur out and Arthur- well, Arthur seems to think he’s James Bond but really he’s more like Barney the Dinosaur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arse of Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> A not-so-classy birthday gift for the lovely Pavla, who wanted something cute involving coffee and ended up with this monstrosity. (Written January 18th 2013)

Merlin hated the smell of coffee. It was just something that happened to you after making the stuff all day every day for seven years. He didn’t regret taking over  _Court Cafe_  after his uncle decided to take early retirement, not for a moment - the decision had taken Merlin away from the grey, empty old flat he had shared with Gwen before she moved out and moved in with Lance. Merlin lived above the cafe now. It was a much shorter commute and his wages had more than doubled, but the smell of caffeine and cinnamon and fucking freshly baked muffins had seeped into his carpet, his sofa, the linens on his bed.

It pissed him off. He hated the smell of coffee.

However, Merlin did enjoy the smell of fresh paint, which just so happened to be wafting through  _Court Cafe_  one January afternoon. Merlin had been forced to close for the day so that he could have a decorator come in and repaint everything red and gold - make it feel more homely, since Merlin had never liked the pale green colour scheme Gaius had left behind.

The silence echoing through the tiny cafe without the constant whirring of the coffee machine was music to Merlin’s ears. He spent the day organising and reorganising the mug stock, washing everything and checking for chips or cracks in the ceramics. He relabelled the shelves, writing out the mug sizes - LARGE, MEDIUM, SMALL - in thick, block letters and wiped the counter over about thirty times, trying his best to keep it sounding as though he was puttering around busily and not spending extended periods of time staring at the perfect, jean-clad arse bobbing along the opposite wall at eye level.

It hadn’t been deliberate, hiring someone that gorgeous. It really hadn’t. Merlin had just flicked to the first page of painters and decorators in the Yellow Pages and called the first company on the list -  _The Art of Arthur (Is What You Need)_.

 _The Arse of Arthur (Is What You’ll See)_  would’ve been more fitting, Merlin thought as he pretended to clean between the buttons on the till, somewhat begrudged by how utterly distracting and unobtainable Arthur was, in equal parts.

The offending Arthur was perched on an old step ladder, stretching up to drag his brush beneath the crown moulding until his scruffy white t-shirt had risen enough to expose the low waistband of his jeans and a sliver of skin across his lower back. The muscles in Arthur’s shoulders were bunching a little at the strain and Merlin had to bite his lip to hold back the heavy pant fighting to escape him.

Merlin watched as Arthur completed the stroke, the finish of his paint as flat and even as his stomach, which Merlin totally  _didn’t_  stare at when Arthur turned to scoop more paint onto his brush from the tray to his right. The blond hair which had looked so soft and fluffy that morning when Arthur strolled into  _Court Cafe_  had grown ruffled and streaked with red from where Arthur had been running his fingers through it all day. Merlin’s eyes raked over it for a moment before skittering downwards and finding Arthur’s blue eyes staring right back at him.

Embarrassment made Merlin let out a squeak of shock and turn to grab the order pads from the shelf behind him. He frantically started tugging mismatched pens out of the jar to his left and scribbled them across the first order page, checking that the ink was still working in each. There were a few unbearable minutes of silence when Merlin could feel the back of his neck burning under Arthur’s gaze - had he turned around? Should Merlin turn around and check? Oh God, no. No way.

Then Arthur cleared his throat and said, “It’s Merlin, right?”

Merlin nodded, still not daring to glance over his shoulder, and managed, “Yeah.”

“Couldn’t make me a coffee, could you?” Arthur asked, sounding… surprisingly normal. The step ladder creaked and then Merlin heard footsteps crossing the cafe as Arthur’s voice called, “Just need to use the loo.”

Merlin hummed a nervous assent and hurried through the door to the break room to use the kettle in there - he didn’t fancy turning around and warming the coffee machine up, or turning around at all, really. His stomach was doing a weird, angry fluttering thing and the stress of standing behind that counter a moment longer was probably going to make Merlin go blind.

He boiled the kettle and stirred coffee into one of the staff mugs, since he was already the one paying Arthur anyway and really, the prat didn’t deserve anything better than mediocre, homemade coffee simply because he’d made Merlin feel like a pervy idiot. In the end, though, Merlin was very glad he’d chosen the mug with the largest handle because he almost dropped it when he walked out of the break room and saw the message Arthur had left painted in red across the opposite wall.

_Did you think I hadn’t already seen you looking?_

Merlin felt his cheeks burst into a bright pink flush just as the door to the toilets opened and Arthur sauntered out, still fiddling with the zip on his jeans. Merlin slid the coffee onto the counter and braced one of his palms against the hard marble, trying to school his expression into annoyance instead of mortification.

“I’m not paying for lettering,” he said as cooly as he could manage, and Arthur looked up at him with a grin.

“I’ll paint over it,” he chuckled, reaching for the coffee. “What, don’t I get the fancy stuff?”

“No,” Merlin glared. “Only if you pay for it and, as I recall, I’m the one paying you.”

“Well you’re definitely getting your money’s worth,” Arthur muttered, and Merlin felt his cheeks flare up again. He said nothing, couldn’t even hold Arthur’s gaze, just started scrubbing the counter.

Arthur watched him for a minute or two, running paint-stained fingers around his mug, then said, “If it helps, I, um. I noticed I could see your nipples through that t-shirt three hours ago. And your underwear is blue.”

When Merlin looked up at him sharply, Arthur smirked and tilted his head towards the cupboard at the end of the counter.

“Word to the wise,” he said. “Don’t keep the heaviest box of mugs on the bottom shelf.”

Merlin grinned despite himself and licked his bottom lip, feeling a little scandalised but so very, very glad that the ogling hadn’t been a one-sided thing. Arthur’s eyes darted down to watch Merlin’s tongue and Merlin’s stomach flipped over, filling with heat and anticipation.

“No wonder you’re not finished,” he teased, motioning to the two walls Arthur had yet to start work on.

Arthur leant towards Merlin over the counter, jerking his chin so that Merlin leant in too. He could smell the paint in Arthur’s hair and the warmth of his body and it made Merlin’s tongue thicken in his mouth.

“I think I might have to come back tomorrow,” Arthur whispered, his eyes fixed on Merlin’s. “Just to, you know, get the job done. I’ll have to do some rolling on the back wall and then maybe, if there’s time, I could finish with the, er,  _rimming_.”

Merlin was fairly sure his swallow was audible. “I believe it’s called moulding,” he breathed, not even caring how truly, truly awful that attempt at an innuendo had been because- well, because Arthur had just said  _rimming._

Arthur let go of his coffee and reached for Merlin’s t-shirt, pulling him in even closer and kissing him. It was hard and wet and really fucking hot, and Merlin made a surprised moaning sound into it, dropping the cloth he had been using to scrub the counter and pulling at the nape of Arthur’s neck.

They kissed with open mouths and tongues and a lot more dirty, needy suction than Merlin was used to, with Arthur pushing for dominance and Merlin barely fighting him for it because- again, because Arthur had said  _rimming_. Did Merlin’s brain really need another excuse?

Eventually, Arthur pulled back for air and his fingers loosened in Merlin’s t-shirt. He glanced down and a smirk played across his lips, which made Merlin glance down too and wow, wasn’t that brilliant? A red handprint. Right across his collarbone.

“Shit!” he hissed, pulling the light grey fabric taut and glaring down at the mark.

Arthur tutted like it was a great pity and said, tone dripping with nonchalance, “Oh damn, looks like you might have to take it off.”


End file.
